What've you got?
by goodbye world
Summary: "And you think, with all your photographs, you think that maybe you know your family a whole lot better than they know you." -MollyLysander.


**Uh... well, this was supposed to be prewriting, but it turned into a story. Oops? I didn't even realize until I was over a thousand words in, and by then it was a monster and I couldn't stop. I still think it's kinda awkward, because it's in the second person, and that's really weird for me, but I actually do like it a lot.**

**Originally I was aiming for around three thousand words or so, but that didn't really work out...**

**Well, anyways, yay for my longest one-shot so far, my first MollyLysander, and my first (still awkward) second-person fic! Enjoy!**

-:-

So what've you got, little Molly-wolly? You're the youngest of them all, that's for certain-sure. Least distinguished, too, by the looks of it. Maybe you'll end up in the Ministry like your dad, but what do they want with Slytherins? Besides, you're not really smart enough, not really talented enough for that. Everyone knows it. Maybe if you tried a little harder in your lessons, maybe then you could make it happen, but do you do that? No, of course not, you just sit there, doodling in the margins of your notebook, not paying attention in the least.

What's wrong with you? Honestly... Maybe it all started with your Sorting. Think back on it, Molly, and you'll see.

-:-

You're eleven years old and you feel tiny in the Great Hall, filled with _ohso_many people. And maybe you should be used to it, coming from the expansive Weasley clan, but you've always been antisocial, haven't you?

Then you hear it: "Weasley, Lucy," and you twin lets go of your hand, taking away the only comfort you might have held on to. You watch the back of her blond head with bated breath as she goes up to the stool. You resist the urge to bite your fingernails, because your mother says it's undignified and you want her to be proud of you. You're waitingwaitingwaiting, and it seems like forever but it's only ten seconds before the hat calls out, "GRYFFINDOR!" And the whole Great Hall erupts in cheers.

But you're a bit jealous, because Lucy's always the perfect one, the good one, and now she's in Gryffindor. And you know it's wrong, but you were hoping to be in a different house than her, so you could maybe distinguish yourself, but now...

And then Professor Longbottom calls your name ("Weasley, Molly") and all the nerves are back as you make your way to the Sorting Hat. He puts it on your head, and the Sorting Hat reads your mind. After a few seconds, it says, "Oh, I see," and you want to ask it what it sees, but by then it has already called out, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Great Hall is dead silent, shocked, and you can't help being a bit pleased that, even after all the other Weasley-Potters have been Sorted, you're the first one, the only one, in Slytherin. It's a bit difficult to be different when you're the last one, but you've never really had trouble with that, have you?

A satisfied curve to your lips, you make your way over to the Slytherin table. The shock wears off when you're about halfway there and cheering erupts from the Slytherin table, a bit hesitant, but there nonetheless. You take your seat, your fate decided.

-:-

You have no friends, because you're a Weasley, so none of the Slytherins like you, and you're a Slytherin, so no one else is really comfortable around you. No friends, except him. You know the one. L-Y-S-A-N-D-E-R-S-C-A-M-A-N-D-E-R. Him, oh, yes, him. He's in third year by the time you get there, but he finds you the first night, when you're locked out from your dormitory, and he stays with you, and there are some bonds that are just there, you know? Because your parents were _war heroes_, and you're _Slytherins_.

-:-

You fall to the back of the group of Slytherins, the wave of euphoria from being different long gone, because no one would talk to you at dinner. So you just sat there and stared at the Gryffindor table and you kind of wished you were there, but it's too late now. You're the last Slytherin in the dungeons and in the common room, and you decide to just go to sleep because then you'll be unconscious and the time will go so much faster.

But when you get to the first year girls' dormitory door it's locked. You knock. They don't answer.

You go back to the common room to look for a Prefect, but decide not to ask one for help, your pride getting in the way. You sit in front of your dorm, hoping it will open, knowing it won't, and wait until everyone has left the common room before going back to fall asleep on one of the couches by the fire, still wearing your robes.

When you wake up, you're in a bed, and you start in surprise, looking around yourself. The room is empty except for a familiar-looking boy with blond hair, gray eyes, and a green-and-silver tie. He nods at you and you get out of the bed (his, presumably), and say, "You're Lysander Scamander."

He nods again and says, "You're Molly Weasley."

And you don't talk about the other Slytherins because there's nothing to say, not really, but go down to breakfast together. He helps you break in to your dormitory later to get your things for class.

And he becomes your bestbest (_only_) friend.

-:-

So there you have it. You're Molly Weasley, and you've got nothing, nothing except for a reject boy with an obsession for Care of Magical Creatures and (_maybemaybemaybe_) something else.

Because, here you are, and you're not really much of anything - too Weasley to be a Slytherin and too Slytherin to be a Weasley - and, really, no one cares about you. You're just there, the odd one out, and they find it easy to look the other way, pretend you're not there, get on with the rest of their perfect lives. So you _see_ things, don't you, Molly. Because, when you're stuck in the middle, you haven't got all those nasty prejudices blocking the way and everything's so much clearer. It helps that you're small and nondescript and unobtrusive, because they always ignore you, so they start to just not notice you.

And then he gets you a camera for Christmas your first year, and it's just one of those cheap disposable muggle things, but you're in love right away.

So you savor the film on that first camera, make those 27 exposures last, waitingwaitingwaiting for the perfect shots to come along, and when you finally get the film developed (the muggle way, of course, because wizards wouldn't know what to do with that camera), it's just _wow_.

You've captured something, with your twelve-year-old hands and cheap muggle camera, and you run to tell him, to show him, and he's speechless.

Because the pictures? Yeah, they're _that good_.

The two of you save up (mostly it's him, because his summer job beats your paltry allowance any day) and soon you've got yourself a top-notch wizard camera. You take it everywhere, and you're always snapping photos and your room is positively _littered_ with them - pictures of your family, of your schoolmates, of complete strangers, of Hogwarts and the Burrow and Lysander's creatures and, _oh_, it's just so beautiful that it makes you want to cry.

You never show anyone your photographs, except for _him_, of course, because he _knows_ you.

And you think, with all your photographs, you think that maybe you know your family a whole lot better than they know you.

-:-

It's the summer after your second year and you haven't seen Lysander for a month because he's on a Crumple-Horned Snorcack hunt with his parents when your dad decides to confiscate your camera. He's angry because your grades have been bad and he says that photography's not an appropriate hobby for a witch anyway. "Why can't you be more like Lucy?" he asks you.

You run up to your room, because you _absolutely will not_ let him see you cry. And you try to be strong, really, you do. But you're only thirteen and your camera's your everything and Lysander's not here to make you feel better (because he's the only one who ever can) so you start crying.

Lucy knocks on your door, but you barricade it with a chair and write Lysander, because usually that can calm you down at least a little bit, but you end up covering the page in tearstains and you can't fake cheer as well as you usually (think you) do. You send it anyway.

You try to calm yourself down by looking at your pictures, but that just makes it worse because you remember that you're not like Lucy and you're not smart and perfect and _Gryffindor_ so your parents aren't proud of you. Usually you can forget. Usually you can hide behind your camera and talk to Ly and just feel happy, but neither of them are here to make it better now.

You hear a commotion downstairs but don't get up to check what it is.

And then, somehow, impossibly, you hear Lysander's voice at your door. You dry your tears as quickly as you can, run over to move your chair, and throw the door open before attacking him with a hug. His arms come around you easily, naturally, and you can almost forget about your father. When you finally let go, you grin up at him and say, "I missed you, Ly."

He looks at your (probably blotchy) face and (definitely red) eyes and says, "What's wrong?"

Your smile dims and you whisper, "He took my camera and said I should be more like Lucy."

Lysander blinks at you and something comes over his face, something you haven't seen before. It's fierce and angry and your fingers itch for your camera to capture it because it makes your heart stutter, but then he's off, back downstairs, and by the time you get there he's having a very angry, whispered with your father. Your father storms out.

He gets your camera back for you and you hug it to your chest before attacking Lysander with another hug. "Thanks. You're the best best friend ever, Ly," you whisper.

He kisses the top of your head and lets you lead him off to your room. You show him all your new pictures and he stays with you all day.

And comes back the next day. And the next. And every day for the rest of the summer.

-:-

By your fifth year, you're practically living in the seventh year boys' dorm with Lysander because the other girls still don't like you, and you don't know what you're going to do when he's gone. He graduates in June and the two of you sneak away from his (_Lorcan's_) graduation party and lay out by the pond.

You sigh and reach for his hand, like you've done since you were eleven. He squeezes back, and you can tell that he's starting to get worried, whether for you or his future or a whole mess of things, you don't know, but you grin and ask, "Are you sure you'll be okay without me, Ly?"

You can practically hear him smiling as he says, "I don't know. Who knows, maybe I'll overcome my blindness when your camera's not always flashing in my face," he throws in your running joke and you punch his arm. He turns on his side to face you. "You know I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you more," you say with a sigh. "I can't imagine what I'll do at Hogwarts without you."

Lysander shrugs. "Probably beat up your dormmates," he grins.

"Ah, yes, I'm sure they're scared stiff of this much raw muscle." You gesture to your still barely-five-foot form.

He laughs. "I know I would be. And you'll scare off all the first years, too."

"Oh, and don't forget the second years. Especially the ones who are taller than me."

"Be sure to remember that Keith Flint, too," he says, referring to the larger of the Slytherin Beaters. "I'm sure you could take him if you tried."

You dissolve into laughs and scoot over to put your head on his shoulder and then, because it's the only thing you can think to do, you pull out your camera, hold it as high as you can, and take a picture of the two of you.

It's the first photo you've ever gotten of yourself, and it's one of your favorites. Lysander's looking at you, and you can't tell exactly what that is in his eyes, but it takes your breath away. You're grinning goofily up at the camera, but your smile is _ohso_real, like it never is when you see yourself in the mirror and in other people's pictures. You always keep a copy with you, to look at and make you feel less lonely. It always works.

-:-

The next summer, he meets you at the train station and steals you away before your parents find you. They'll be furious, you know, but you can't bring yourself to care. "I've got a surprise for you," he says once you've released him from your death-grip hug.

"What?" you ask, cocking your head at him. "Tell me!"

He laughs. "Nope. Not going to happen. You've got to wait."

You commence tugging on his arm, laughing, and chanting, "Tell me, tell me, tell me," like you're five years old again.

He interrupts by grabbing you around the waist, effectively silencing you with shock as butterflies pop unbidden into your stomach, and disapparates. You stagger when it's over, because apparition really isn't pleasant, and then look around. "Where are we?" you ask.

"It's the reserve where I work," he says. He can't seem to keep the grin from his face as he continues, "We're doing a publicity campaign and we need some photos for ads and that sort of thing. I said I knew a good photographer." He looks at you, and you feel an impossibly wide grin spread over your face.

It is a few moments before you can say, "Really?"

He laughs and nods. "And you get paid."

Your jaw drops. "Really?" you squeak again.

He nods again and you're so happy that you do this weird sort of victory leap and run up and hug him yet again. You hold on for far too long and not long enough.

-:-

Your parents say you can't do it, but you don't let that stop you from grabbing a handful of floo powder the next day and going to the zoo. Lysander leads you to a nearby section of the reserve, and says, "We'll start you off with hippogriffs, okay?"

You shoot him a look. "What do you mean, 'start off'?"

He grins at you proudly. "Well, you'll also be taking pictures of unicorns, phoenixes, dragons, and thestrals."

"Well, how do you expect me to take pictures of thestrals when I can't even - did you say dragons?"

He nods and says (_not so_) nonchalantly, "We've got a Welsch Green and a Hebridean Black we thought you could photograph," and carefully watches your response.

"So. Cool!" you say. "Can I go now? Please?"

He laughs, looking pleased, but shakes his head. "Nope. We're starting with hippogriffs, remember?"

You sigh, pretending to be disappointed, but can't really pull it off, because it's all so excited and you've never really been able to be unhappy so long as he's next to you. Everything else fades away as you enter the enclosement. After gaining the hippogriffs' trust, they let you take photos of them and it's positively breathtaking. There's a bronze and chestnut creature that always comes forward first and ends up nuzzling you in the back while you aren't paying attention, earning a surprised laugh. One of the others is so gray it's almost blue, and still another is small and midnight black, nearly invisible in the shadows. And, you think, maybe you like this one the best, so you photograph it and it looks so very free and wild and alive and you know as soon as you snap that _that's the one_. That's the one you're going to tell them to use.

The unicorns are easy, because they're already beautiful and perfect; it's like photographing _Victoire_, honestly.

With the phoenixes, you don't feel right until you've gotten one of them in it's prime, yes, but old and frail, as well, and newly rising from the ashes.

And the thestrals are difficult, because you can't see them, and won't be able to see them even once the film is developed, so it's really very unsatisfying, but you get an older man from the reserve to lead some out and position them (because, ahem, he can _see_ them) and you snapsnapsnap up a bunch of shots. You'll give them to the reserve later, and those who can see the thestrals in the developed photos will decide which are best.

The dragons are your favorite, though. They're just so _big_ and majestic, and you drag out photographing them as long as you can, until Lysander tells you that you can come back later if you like, after the job's done, and you admit that you've already gotten the shot you really want. It's got the two dragons together, colors contrasting, but tails twined together, and somehow they just fit (and you wonder if dragons can feel (_forbidden_) love).

-:-

You get paid way more than you expected, so you think there's been a mistake at first. There hasn't. You buy a new camera, and save the rest for developing film later in the year.

You almostalmost cry when you have to go back to Hogwarts, because it's awful without him, and you and Lucy are the only Weasleys left, so there's nothing, really, but you're seventeen and you're an _adult_ so you hold it in. You hug him for a good five minutes, though, and it still doesn't feel like long enough.

And you're Molly Weasley, so you don't really have any other friends or anything to do all year at Hogwarts (Study? Yeah, right!) and what you need is a _project_. You decide that maybe it's time for someone other than Lysander to see your work, and you finally want to show them who you are, so you get started compiling pictures from the last seven years and take some more and pull together some scrapbooks for the whole family. And you just _know_ that you know them a whole lot better than they know you, but that's all about to change, isn't it?

Because you've got pictures of _everything_.

Everyone knows Lucy's smart (she _is_ the top student in your year, after all), but most people don't notice how her face gets kind of soft when she looks at one of her favorite books, how she'll gently, unconsciously run her fingers over the spines whenever she passes the bookcase, how she sometimes comes out from her room clutching a book, eyes red, because perhaps one of the characters has died. How she gets that light smile on her face whenever she opens a book. How her eyes go all far away when she talks about it.

Maybe no one else notices this, but you do, and you've got photographs of it.

You've got them all. Rose's _ohso_uncommon smile that just lights up her whole face whenever she talks about Hogwarts. Roxanne, caught mid-laugh when someone besides her cracks a joke and she can finally relax a bit. Grandma Molly, your namesake, looking out the kitchen window eagerly when she's _finallyfinally_ gotten the whole family together at the Burrow. James on his broom soaking wet and mud-covered, but looking euphoric nonetheless. Lysander bandaging a bowtruckle, a look of intense concentration on his face.

You have other things, too. Dobby's gravestone at Shell Cottage, right as the last rays of sun sink below the horizon. A photo of the whole family on Christmas morning (except you, of course, because you're never in the photos except _that one_), and everyone's full of smiles and magic and dreams come true. The corridor on the seventh floor where, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, the wall is permanently charred, stained black in the strangest, most unnatural patterns.

And it takes you the whole year and the rest of your money from the reserve, but finally you've pulled it all together, with your best shots of the family and Hogwarts and _everything_, and, right in the back, the very last photo in every book, is that one, the only photo you've ever taken of yourself. And you think that it's always been your favorite.

-:-

You show Lysander after your graduation, when the two of you are stopping by his flat to get ready, and he just looks at you for a minute before saying, "I think it's brilliant, Molls. Perfect way to start of your career as a professional photographer."

And he's got this weird tone in his voice, so you cock your head and ask, "What d'you mean by that?"

He looks away and says, "Oh, nothing." You're about to protest and start with your five-year-old antics (and he knows he can never resist those) so he says quickly, "How come you never showed me this one?" and gestures to the last one, the one of the two of you the night of his graduation party.

You shrug. "I liked keeping that one for myself. It's my favorite." You get out the one you keep in your wallet and show him.

He nods, a strange look on his face, and helps you wrap up the scrapbooks (except for his, which he keeps on his desk). After spending a few minutes getting ready (you've got a whole bunch of stuff at his place, just because), the two of you floo over to the Burrow (you still don't like apparating) and join in with the graduation party. You even have a bit of fun, hanging out with the family, and you wonder why you've hardly spoken to half of them before this, and then you remember. You try to forget again.

Then it's time to open presents, and Lucy's gotten you some new lenses for your camera. Rose, Lily, Hugo, and Albus have all chipped in to give you a really nice muggle camera, because you've been saying that you wanted to experiment with stills. Dominique and Roxanne get you equipment for a home development station for your photos. Fred, James, and Louis have an assortment of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes gear for you, and most of the others just give you cash. Your parents have given you (for some awful, unknown reason) the book _Prefects Who Gained Power_, which your father considers an old classic. Your favorite, though, is from Lysander: an antique polaroid camera so that you can have developed photos right away. You're really anxious to use it for the rest of the night, especially when everyone's opening your presents. Speaking of which...

"I've actually got some presents for all of you," you say once you and Lucy are done opening. You levitate out the gifts from where you'd stashed them inside, and pass them around, excitedly bringing up your camera, ready to start snapping away.

And then, before anyone's opened a thing, your father says, "Molly, will you please put that thing away? I thought you were finally going to be done with this whole photography business now that you've grown up." He looks around for reassurance and Audrey nods.

You take one photo quickly, hiding behind the large camera until your eyes are clear again. You allow the polaroid to fall to the grass. "No," you say quite simply, and defiantly snap another photo.

Percy blinks. "Molly, I thought I told you to-"

You cut him off, though, saying, "I won't put it away. I love my camera and my pictures, and if any of you ever paid attention for even two seconds you'd _know_ that."

Audrey looks around self-consciously. "Molly, dear, don't make a scene," she reprimands as if Molly's a child throwing a tantrum in a candy shop.

And, really, you can't help but explode.

"You know what, mother? I _will_ make a scene, okay? Is this what you've all been waiting for?" You look around at the family. "Because I like to take photos and it's not very 'Wizarding World'? Is it because I'm a Slytherin? Is that why none of _you_ ever said two words to me while we were at Hogwarts?" None of your cousins will meet your eyes when you look at them. "Is that why all of you just ignored me when I was little, so you could focus on the ones who were good and witch-like and Gryffindor?" You look at all of your aunts and uncles. They don't look back, so you move on to your parents, "I mean, I know I'm not _Lucy_, and you wish I was, but am I really that bad?" And then you're back to everyone, the whole family. "I know, Merlin, I _know_ that I'm not smart and beautiful and popular and Gryffindor and _perfect_ like the rest of you, but am I really _that bad_?" And still none of them will meet your eyes. "Am I?" you whisper, more to yourself than to any of them.

And then you disapparate, while the rest of them look the other way like they always have, not waiting to see if any of them even bother to open the scrapbooks, because you won't cry, not in front of all of them, and you're coming dangerously close.

You dissolve on the floor into tears as soon as you get there.

-:-

Lysander apparates in about two minutes later, because he always knows where you'll be, and he sits behind you, pulling you back into his embrace on the ground. You think that maybe it'll be okay.

When you're more composed, Lysander stands you up, and says after a moment, "I wasn't going to tell you this until later, but I've got a job offer. It's a great opportunity, and I'd get to be more experienced with all sorts of creatures."

You smile up at him, willing the leftover tears from your eyes. "That's great, Ly."

He pauses, then continues, "It's in Greece," and the whole world comes crashing down all over again, because you can'tcan't_can't_ lose him, too.

"Oh," you say, biting your lip, still trying to be happy for him (_and failing miserably_). "Are you, um, are you taking it?"

He sighs, running his hand through his hair. "I - I don't... they've got an opening for a photographer, too," he blurts, not seeming able to stop himself, and looks away so you won't see the hope in his eyes.

Your jaw drops. "You're kidding! We have to go! Oh, this is so amazing!"

He looks at you. "Are you sure? It's not just because of..."

"No," you say firmly. "I really want to go."

And you leave in the morning.

-:-

(_Three months later_)

You've been settled into the flat you're sharing with Lysander for a while now. It's morning, and you've woken up too early, because he's not out of his room yet so you decide to make breakfast for a change (because he always cooks). You figure pancakes will be easy enough and start about making the batter, wondering what to put in, shrugging, and giving it your best guess. The batter looks pretty normal (at least, you think it does) so you start cooking a couple pancakes on the stove, singing some old muggle song to yourself.

You're wearing socks (you always sleep in socks) and a t-shirt you borrowed from him that goes down almost to your knees. You think that, even though he's six three and you're five one, he's only two years older than you and you kind of want him to stop treating you like a little kid. Sure, you act like it sometimes, because it's _nice_ to be taken care of, but maybe you want to take care of him too.

And maybe you want a little bit more. (And maybe you have for a while.)

But you've always been like his little sister. You've been living together for months, and you shared his _bed_ at Hogwarts (he always put a pillow in the middle) but it seems like it's only ever been platonic.

You're still singing and trying not to burn the pancakes when you hear a very familiar clicking noise behind you. You whirl around to see him there, your camera in hand, and try to reprimand him, but he's still taking pictures and he's fourteen inches taller than you (so reprimanding's never really worked out well) and all you can do is start laughing. You kind of wonder if you're turning into one of those annoying teenage girls who always giggles at everything, but decide there's nothing you can do anyway and you like how you laugh more now.

You're always smiling and laughing these days. Except when you remember them and then it's all you can do not to cry. You try not to remember them too often. You've written Lucy to tell her that you're fine and happy and not to come looking for you.

An acrid smell invades your nose, and you realize that you've burned the pancakes. You turn around with a sigh, and decide to let Lysander do the cooking from now on, and you'll take the pictures.

-:-

It's two months later when you finally get up the nerve to do it. You've been pumping yourself up for ages, trying to get enough courage (there's a reason you weren't in Gryffindor) and then _she_ asks him out and it that's all you need.

See, _she_ is another (_very pretty, very smart, very tall_) naturalist who works with you. And, apparently, who has taken a liking to Lysander. And right when you've finallyfinally gotten up the courage to do it yourself, she asks him out. And you haven't got anyone else so you won't lose Lysander, too, and you've already got the courage ready so before he can answer, you say, "Sorry, but he can't go out with you then."

And you feel kind of guilty but that's overshadowed by the rush of finally doing something so you walk up to him, pull him down to you by his tie (because otherwise you could never reach) and kiss him. His arms come around you and he's kissing you back and it feels like a million fireworks exploding all over the world and everything else fades away.

You wonder later if it's strange that you're having your first kiss at eighteen but figure it's not that weird because Lysander's twenty and it's his first, too. Just then, though, you don't have enough space in your brain for anything but the fact that you're kissing Lysander Scamander and you think maybe all your nerve endings have gone into overdrive because you can't remember ever feeling this much before.

It's a few minutes later before the two of you can break apart. He runs a hand through his already rather tousled hair and says, "I've wanted to do that for ages."

You grin at him. "Me, too."

-:-

If you were happy before, you're euphoric now. Everything's just so perfectperfectperfect in your life and you wonder how you got so lucky.

Well, everything except them. Because you can't help but miss them and wish you could go back in time, but at the same time you don't want to because you're happy now like you never truly were then.

And Lysander sees the faraway look on your face and understands. But he thinks a bit differently than you and you get into an argument about it.

"Molly, I know it's tearing you up inside, okay? It would be good for you to go back." He looks at you imploringly and you don't want to disappoint him, but you can't imagine ever going back there again after exploding. Surely they hate you now. Surely all of their convictions about Slytherins have been proved to be true.

And you're not brave enough to face them, even with all your new-found courage and confidence. "I can't, Ly."

It continues and he's _ohso_persuasive and you can almost see his point but you're still terrified of what they'll think of you.

Finally, though, he breaks you down and you agree to go at Christmas.

-:-

You're scared out of your mind on Christmas morning when you wake up (and you hate that they can still make you feel this way) but you're determined to face them so you can be wholly happy again (_for the first time_). Lysander kisses you lightly and holds your hand as you disapparate to your parents' house.

You haven't told them that you're coming and you realize belatedly that it's only seven in the morning here because of the time difference so they're probably still asleep.

Then you notice that the living room looks different and it takes you a second to realize why. You gasp when you do. "Lysander, look," you whisper, but he's already seen and he's smiling at you, almost as if he _knew_ about this.

Because, covering the walls and in frames on every table, are all your photographs. Or, well, all the ones you put in the scrapbook for them, along with some from your work that you _know_ you didn't give them. And, right there in the middle, blown up so it's bigger, is the picture of you and Lysander that night after his graduation. Just below that are three pictures of you from that day in the kitchen, when you were attempting to make pancakes. In the first, your back's turned to the camera and you're singing and swaying lightly. In the second, you've turned around and there's a look of utter shock on your face. And in the third you're doubled over, laughing. Underneath that are two photos you don't recognize, but they're polaroids and you realize that they're the ones you took the night of your graduation before you ran away.

You can only stare at it all and wonder. Then behind you you hear a frantic voice say, "Audrey! Audrey she's back!" and you think that it can't possibly be your father because he's never frantic, but you _know_ that it is.

You turn around and you're still in shock but you process vaguely the fact that Lysander's not here. Your father's staring at you and then he starts spouting off apologies. You run up and hug him and now it's his turn to be shocked, but he hugs you back, still murmuring sorries into your hair.

Your mother is out quickly, wearing her nightrobe and looking utterly disheveled and you almost don't recognize her because Audrey Weasley is never less than perfectly put together. But it _is_ her and you draw her into the hug with your dad and wonder why you were ever afraid of this.

-:-

At the Burrow you see everyone else and they're all shamefaced apologies and repentance. You tell them you just want to start over and they seem relieved.

Lysander comes in with his family about an hour after you get there and you run over to him immediately. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," you say, and kiss him soundly, to wolf-whistles from various members of your families. When you've finished, you turn around, his arm still around your waist, to see Lorcan giving Lucy a galleon.

"Told you, didn't I?" she asks him, sticking out her tongue. She then turns to you. "So who kissed whom first?" she asks, looking between the two of you.

"She kissed me," Lysander says, and you grin when Lorcan groans and hands over another galleon. Lucy dances off happily, now slightly richer.

And you think that if you looked in the Mirror of Erised right now you'd just see yourself, an enormous, happyhappy smile splitting your face in two, because you've got _everything_ you could ever want right here.

-:-

**A/N: If you saw any mistakes or errors, pleasepleaseplease tell me so I can fix them. Also, please don't favorite or alert without reviewing. Thanks :)**


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